A Kind of Magic
by The Fink
Summary: The team learns that there's far more to Tony than any of them realised when a centuries old quest for revenge drags them into a world of swords and solitary warriors...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The NCIS characters and setting belong to Bellisario et al; the Highlander characters and concept belong to DPP et al. No harm intended, no money made.

Timing: Set sometime after Agent Afloat and before Cloak in season six.

Warnings: Contains history, Latin and religion.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice and thanks to K for the help with Latin.

This story is the inevitable (!) result of giving a Classicist a throw away line like "Not Long Islanders, Romans". This story is also something of an anniversary piece. I started on this site on the 29th November 2000 as a Highlander writer and here I am, ten years later, coming back to my first fandom while playing in my newest... This is a crossover story, but don't worry if you're not familiar with Highlander; the blanks will get filled in as we go. Any Latin translations will come at the end of each part (though I will do my best to keep THAT to a minimum!)

A Kind of Magic

Prologue

Stilled lungs suddenly flooded with air and Dean Johnson's eyes flew open. For a moment or two, he was confused. His last memories were of a shoot out with some bunch of feds, back at the house. One of them, a dark haired woman he would have loved to have added to his collection, had shot him three times in the chest. That much, he'd expected. What he didn't understand was why he now appeared to be somewhere in the great outdoors. He'd expected to come round in a morgue drawer. So who-

"Finally."

The voice was gratingly preppy and Dean finally recognised that there was another Immortal near by. Looking round, he finally spotted the other man, casually leaning against a tree. In the dim light it was hard to tell but it looked like- "You!"

The other man smirked. "Hi."

"You're a fed."

"And you're a mental midget, but who's keeping score?"

Dean started to get up, only to find that his wrists and ankles were cuffed. "What is this?"

"This?" The fed's smirk took on a hard edge. "This is what you might call a special form of justice." There was a whisper of steel on fabric and the fed drew his sword.

"You can't do this!" Dean started to struggle against his restraints.

"Why not? Not like this is holy ground and it's really not like a dirtbag like you deserves anything better. You raped and killed five petty officers." The fed pushed away from his tree and started towards him. "If you were mortal - and you hadn't been shot, of course - you'd be getting the needle for it. Since that can't happen, I guess I'm the next best thing."

"They don't matter," Dean snarled, trying to squirm away even as the fed advanced. "They're our playthings. We are Gods among them."

"Again with the Gods." The fed rolled his eyes and shook his head. "We're not Gods."

"You're young. What would you know?"

The smirk took on an even harder edge. "Ever heard the phrase 'never judge a book by its cover'?" The fed grabbed a handful of hair and placed the sword blade against Dean's throat. "Let's just say, I'm a little older than I look._ Te in nomine Caesaris capitis condemno_."

Dean had just long enough to feel the deep pull of pure terror, and then the fed struck and as far as Dean Johnson was concerned, life ceased.

* * *

"Geez, you look rough," jibbed a voice.

"Night on the slates?" enquired another.

Both voices were familiar, but it took him painful seconds to sort through the swirling mass of memories - both his own and those he'd newly acquired - before he could identify them. One belonged to Timothy McGee, the other to Ziva David. They were colleagues - and friends - of his current alias. Squeezing his eyes open, he found both of them looming over his desk, both of them clearly trying to decide whether sympathy or merciless mocking were the way to go.

"It's night on the tiles, Ziva."

"Same difference."

Apparently, the simple correction was all either she or McGee needed to know that he was fundamentally all right, because both moved off to their respective desks, though clearly taking care to speak as loudly as they could reasonably manage. Merciless mocking it was. For a moment, he entertained the idea of explaining that no, this wasn't that sort of hangover. Then he shoved that fantasy aside. He liked this life far too much to want to risk it. So let them think he'd been drinking on a school night; it would do as a cover until the new memories integrated and everything slid back into balance.

He smiled faintly as he closed his eyes once more. It wouldn't take much longer and then Anthony DiNozzo would be back on form and life could continue.

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

Latin:

_Te in nomine Caesaris capitis condemno_. - In the name of Caesar, I condemn you to death


	2. One

Wow. I really, really wasn't expecting the response this has got. A huge big thank you to everyone who's reviewed, favourited, alerted or even simply read. I will be doing proper review replies when I can. I hope you continue to enjoy! Updates should be roughly once a week (all being well!)

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The NCIS characters and setting belong to Bellisario et al; the Highlander characters and concept belong to DPP et al. No harm intended, no money made.

Timing: Set sometime after Agent Afloat and before Cloak in season six.

Warnings: Contains history, Latin and religion.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice and thanks to K for the help with Latin.

This story is the inevitable (!) result of giving a Classicist a throw away line like "Not Long Islanders, Romans". This story is also something of an anniversary piece. I started on this site on the 29th November 2000 as a Highlander writer and here I am, ten years later, coming back to my first fandom while playing in my newest... This is a crossover story, but don't worry if you're not familiar with Highlander; the blanks will get filled in as we go. Any Latin translations will come at the end of each part - though I will try to keep that to a minimum!

A Kind of Magic

One

The tingling itch of an approaching Immortal was what pulled Tony from his sleep. With no other Immortals living in the general DC area, he knew this wasn't some accident of chance. Someone was looking for him and that could only mean trouble. Reaching for his service piece with his right hand, he rolled out of bed and padded to the door of his bedroom just as his visitor began to apply lock picks to his door. _Why do I even bother locking the damn thing?_ he found himself wondering, even as he eyed the distance between his bedroom door and his sword's hiding place. If the visitor was any good with lock picks-

The door clicked open.

Tony grimaced. Whoever his visitor was, they were better with lock picks than Ziva. He could only think of one person who fit that bill and sure enough, as he watched the door inch wider, he saw a flash of white-blonde hair. She'd bleached her hair again. He waited until she'd taken a full step into his apartment then he brought his gun up and took a careful aim.

"Freeze; Federal Agent."

That netted him a throaty chuckle. "You wouldn't really shoot me, now, would you?"

For answer, Tony flipped the light switch on and glared at the intruder. "Amanda, you really don't want me to answer that."

Amanda merely chuckled again and came the whole way into the apartment before closing the door behind her. "Antonio, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"Friends knock," Tony retorted, lowering his gun again. She was right; he wouldn't actually shoot her. Even if it was tempting, the paperwork would be hell. "Besides, you showing up here can't possibly mean anything good."

"You can't still hold Berlin against me."

"Amanda, you got me shot."

"It healed."

"And nearly hanged."

"Mac got you out before that happened."

"And you stole my clothes."

Amanda gave an impish grin. "Well that, I'm not sorry about. I appreciated the view. Just like I'm appreciating the view now."

That reminded Tony that he was still holding his gun and dressed only in the pair of boxers he'd been sleeping in. Never the strongest negotiating position, it was even less so with Amanda. He pointed in the direction of his kitchen. "Make coffee; I'm going to find some clothes. Then you can tell me just what the hell you're doing here and what you want."

"What makes you think I want something?"

"Amanda, how long have I known you?"

"There's always a first time, darling."

Tony just gave her a particularly withering glare and stalked back into the bedroom. Setting his gun back on the nightstand, he quickly hauled on a pair of faded jeans and an OSU sweatshirt, then padded out and into the kitchen where, remarkably, Amanda had begun making coffee. The fact that she'd actually done as he'd asked didn't bode well. He leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his chest.

"So?" he asked. "Why are you here?"

"I'm doing a favour for a...mutual friend," said Amanda.

"Mac?"

She shook her head and started rifling through cupboards looking for something. "I haven't seen him for a few years now. There was-" She stopped. "He had a bad couple of years."

"I heard."

Amanda lifted one shapely eyebrow. "I didn't think you kept up with Immortal business these days."

"I don't. That doesn't mean I don't hear things from time to time and that doesn't mean I can't find stuff out if I want to." He smiled crookedly. "Federal investigator, remember?"

"Cheat."

"Says the woman who started off the South Sea Bubble."

Amanda went back to rifling through the cupboards with a snort. "You do know that was more Kit than it was me, right?"

"Sure," Tony drawled. "And, y'know, if you told me what you were looking for, I could tell you where to find it."

"Then I wouldn't be able to snoop through your cupboards - you know, I think Anthony DiNozzo's diet is even worse than Mal Logan's was. I thought you were an aristocrat."

"Emphasis on 'were'," said Tony with a shake of his head. "Anthony DiNozzo is so rarely here to eat, because he is a very busy Federal Agent with a boss who has no passing acquaintance with the term 'office hours', that he doesn't see any point in buying groceries that aren't going to have a long shelf life." He shook his head again. "I can't remember the last time I was home long enough to cook before crashing." He frowned. "And we're way the hell off topic. Why are you here, Amanda?"

"I told you-"

"A favour for a mutual friend." Tony rolled his eyes. "You haven't told me who and you haven't told me what."

Amanda finally gave up on her quest and grabbed two mugs from the mug tree on the counter. "Joe's the one who asked me to come see you."

It was Tony's turn to look surprised. "Isn't he supposed to watch and record and never interfere?"

"That is the oath," Amanda agreed. "But this has come from the high-ups in the organisation. Seems they've had a breach of computer security."

"Re-eally." Tony rolled his eyes. "This concerns me how?"

"One of the files they know was accessed was the close out report on Dean Johnson."

"Again: I should be worried by this because?"

Amanda sighed in exasperation and poured out the coffee. "Because they've noticed a particular pattern in their records. Someone's been using the records to hunt Immortals. But not just any Immortals, ones with specific ties back to Rome. And now someone not only knows you exist but where you live and what you do."

"They don't know I'm that old."

"Darling, you took Johnson's head in the name of Caesar."

Tony winced. "The Watcher heard that?"

"And wrote it down and speculated that perhaps you were Praetorian Guard - Joe showed me the report."

That made Tony snort. "Praetorian Guard? Hardly."

"Oh, I know," said Amanda with an impish grin, "but I wasn't going to point out the problem with that!"

"So someone knows I have ties to Rome. I'll do what I always do. Shoot first and ask questions afterwards," Tony retorted.

"You know, you're scarily like Methos when you say that."

Tony shrugged. "Ever think there might be a reason for that?"

Amanda waved that statement off. "Listen, if it was just a random head hunter, Joe wouldn't have involved me. Even with the hacking, that's still a normal part of the Game and he knows that you're no slouch, even if you don't like to fight. But this isn't random. This is someone specifically manipulating challenges to fulfill some kind of vendetta."

Tony picked up one of the coffee mugs. "All right. I'll bite: who is it?"

"Joe got the old guy to do some back tracking and dug up that the hacking had begun in the offices of an import/export business called Bar Kokhba International."

Tony sipped his coffee and frowned, a sinking sensation beginning to develop in the pit of his stomach. "Sounds Israeli."

"It is Israeli," Amanda agreed, toying with her own coffee. "Head of the company is a Simon Bar Kokhba."

Tony swore softly. "Hadrian put down a revolt in Iudea that was led by a man called Simon Bar Kokhba. Do the Watchers know anything about this guy?"

"He's mortal. As far as we can tell, the name is a coincidence-"

"Don't believe in them," said Tony. He set his mug down and ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay, this is bad."

"Now you're taking it seriously?"

"It's bad for two reasons. One, Iudea was a mess. The revolt Hadrian put down was the third in less than a hundred years and there'd been a lot of unrest before the Great Revolt. If it is someone from then, they've got a legitimate grudge. Two, one of the people I work with now is Mossad. Can't imagine she's gonna be too delighted to learn she's been working with someone who helped orchestrate the Diaspora of her people."

"Inadvertently," Amanda pointed out with a frown.

"Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," Tony retorted. "Methos might be able to rationalise some of the crap he's done, but I can't. My actions took a bad situation and made it worse."

"So run," said Amanda. "You've done that before."

Tony offered up a crooked smile. "That was before, though. I actually like it here; I like my job, I like the people I work with-"

"Even the boss with the time keeping issues?"

"Especially him. He reminds me a little of Connor - big on duty but not afraid to bend the rules sometimes." He smirked. "I sometimes think he sees Anthony DiNozzo as a surrogate son."

Amanda snorted in amusement.

"Hell, I even like my current Watcher. Call me petty, but I don't want to have to break another one in and there's no chance he'd leave NCIS if I did."

"You're not supposed to know who your Watcher is."

Tony shrugged. "Don't tell Joe." He sighed. "Leaving isn't an option. That means I need a plan." Scrubbing a hand over his face he shook his head. "Did the old guy have any idea on the 'who'? And what did he find out about Simon Bar Kokhba?"

"No and he isn't a federal investigator," Amanda pointed out. "There is always the possibility that this is just a fuss over nothing."

Tony shook his head. "It isn't."

At that point in the conversation, Tony again caught the faint sounds of someone picking his lock. A glance at the microwave told him it was nearing six in the morning, which suggested he knew precisely who this second, mortal, visitor was. He held a hand up to 'shush' Amanda's obvious question and took up a position in the kitchen doorway, just as his front door once again popped open.

"Ziva, what are you doing here?" he asked as the dark-haired Israeli slid into the apartment.

"You are awake and I needed to see you," she answered, closing the door. Then she suddenly froze. "I- I did not realise you had a guest. I will-"

"Ignore Amanda," said Tony with an eyeroll, even as Amanda elbowed him out of the way.

"That is no way to talk of your girlfriend," said Ziva stiffly, already reaching for the door to let herself out again.

"His girlfriend?" Amanda tipped her head back and laughed. "God, no. And I thought you said your friends knocked," she added.

"They do. Sometimes." Tony sighed. "Ziva, this is a very old friend of mine, Amanda Darieux, who is just passing through?" He added that last with a raised eyebrow as he realised he wasn't sure what Amanda's plans were now that she'd delivered the warning.

"En route to Vegas," Amanda corrected. "Since I had to layover in DC I thought I'd stop by and see you."

Tony supposed he should at least be grateful there was nothing there he shouldn't know about. Arresting your friends was always an awkward proposition. "Ah. Amanda, Ziva David, my partner from NCIS. One of them, at any rate." Under other circumstances, Tony might have found the wary expression on Ziva's face amusing as she shook hands with Amanda.

"Well, I'm sure you need to talk about things that little ol' civilian me shouldn't hear so I'll just go and make myself comfortable in the spare bedroom. Red eye flights are the worst," said Amanda breezily. "Nice to meet you, Ziva. Ciao, Antonio."

And she departed in the direction of the apartment's spare bedroom. Tony rolled his eyes at her departure, then turned his attention to Ziva, who was still looking wary.

"You wanted to see me?" Tony prompted.

With difficulty, Ziva shook her head. "If I had realised she was here, I would not have come."

Tony waved it off and waved her into the kitchen. "Do you want coffee or tea?" he asked.

"Tea." Ziva folded herself down onto one of the kitchen chairs. "You were not expecting her?"

"Amanda comes and goes to her own schedule." Tony put the water on to boil for Ziva's tea and then turned to face her properly. "So. Bad case of DiNozzoitis again?"

"DiNozzoitis?" Ziva wrinkled her nose. "I believe I told you before that sounded venereal."

Tony smirked. "Why else would you be visiting at six am on a Sunday morning?"

To his surprise, Ziva didn't look remotely amused. "I have heard something from my Mossad contacts."

Tony felt his gut begin to tighten. First Amanda showed up with a warning, now Ziva? "What about?"

"There is an uptick in chatter, from Hamas. They are planning something."

"Here?"

Ziva nodded.

"Then why are you talking to me and not Gibbs or Vance?"

"Because they - Vance, at least - probably already know."

"And me because...?"

"Because your name has been mentioned."

Well, crap.

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

Latin:

_Praetorian Guard_ - the emperor's personal body guards

_Iudea_ - The Roman province of Judea


	3. Two

Wow. I really, really wasn't expecting the response this has got. A huge big thank you to everyone who's reviewed, favourited, alerted or even simply read. I will be doing proper review replies when I can. I hope you continue to enjoy! To the Anonymouse who asked about whether this was going to be TIVA: I'm not intending to write any romantic subplots into this story (for any pairing), but what will happen in future stories is very much open for debate! For those of you wondering who Tony's Watcher is, you're about to find out. Cybercookies to those of you who correctly guessed.

NB For anyone reading this who's also reading Coming Back To Life, there's a new part of that just about ready to go and I'll be posting that a little bit later.

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The NCIS characters and setting belong to Bellisario et al; the Highlander characters and concept belong to DPP et al. No harm intended, no money made.

Timing: Set sometime after Agent Afloat and before Cloak in season six.

Warnings: Contains history, Latin and religion.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice and thanks to K for the help with Latin.

This story is the inevitable (!) result of giving a Classicist a throw away line like "Not Long Islanders, Romans". This story is also something of an anniversary piece. I started on this site on the 29th November 2000 as a Highlander writer and here I am, ten years later, coming back to my first fandom while playing in my newest... This is a crossover story, but don't worry if you're not familiar with Highlander; the blanks will get filled in as we go. Any Latin translations will come at the end of each part - though I will try to keep that to a minimum!

A Kind of Magic

Two

There was a long moment of silence after Ziva's statement, punctuated only by the sudden sound of a cell phone ringing. It startled both of them, with Ziva's hand moving rapidly for her pocket as it registered with Tony that it was her cell phone that was making the noise.

She glared at it, as if it had done her a personal disservice, then answered it with a curt, "Shalom."

That told Tony the called was probably from Mossad. For just a moment he debated tuning it out - his Hebrew was rusty enough that eavesdropping would require more concentration than was necessarily advisable - but then Ziva's end of the conversation slid into English, suggesting that she was perfectly happy for him to listen in.

"If that is true, why am I only now hearing this?" she demanded.

Tony couldn't hear the answer, but if the way Ziva's eyes narrowed was anything to go by, the response wasn't a good one.

"Fine, I will come there in person."

Tony lifted an eyebrow as she cut the call and rammed the device back into her pocket. "Should I ask?"

"Mossad is giving me the skip around," she answered tersely. "I must go to the Israeli Embassy and speak with Officer Bashan."

Given her expression, which was promising death and mayhem, Tony judged this would be one of those occasions where it would be prudent to let the mangled idiom slide.

"You will take care, yes?"

"I'll be fine, Ziva," he answered, feigning a level of bravado that he really didn't feel under the circumstances.

She gave him a long look, presumably debating whether or not to add anything more, then she shook her head and departed without another word.

Tony waited a couple of minutes, until he was sure Ziva was well out of earshot, then he called, "Your ears can stop flapping now, 'Manda."

Just as he'd suspected, Amanda reappeared at the call and she even had the grace to look just faintly sheepish. "How did you know?"

"Because I know you." He ran his fingers through his hair again. "Look, I know you wanted to stay here until your flight, but I think you'd better find a hotel."

"You really think this Hamas thing is serious?" she asked, looking concerned.

"I think that there is way too much happening all at once and I need to see a man about a chronicle," Tony answered. "And there's every chance that I'm gonna have more house guests stopping by later - who'll probably want to ask me all kinds of awkward questions."

"Maybe I should stay on in Washington," Amanda began. "For moral support."

Tony shook his head. "Better you don't. If Hamas are genuine, they'll try to use you to get to me; if this Bar Kokhba thing is the vendetta the Watchers think it is, whoever's behind it will do the same thing."

"And now you're sounding like Mac," said Amanda softly, concern turning her expression pained.

He grimaced. "You can take the chief out of the clan but you can't take the clan out of the chief." He scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling very, very tired. "Amanda, I-"

To his surprise, she cut him off with a hug and a kiss to his cheek. "I know, darling. It's just that things are going to get messy, I don't see why you should face this alone."

"I won't be. Anthony DiNozzo has some good people in his life. People who will watch his back."

"It's not your back I'm worried about."

"I know." Tony mustered a faint smile. "I'll be fine." From the way Amanda tensed in his arms, she didn't buy the bravado any more than Ziva did.

* * *

Ducky slowly puttered around his kitchen making a pot of tea. It was, he had to admit, unconscionably early for a Sunday morning, but he was still adjusting to the absence of the corgis. While they had still been living with him, seven o'clock was considered a lie-in! As his phone began to ring, however, he reflected that his mother's dogs weren't the only reason seven am could be considered a lie-in.

"Infernal invention," he muttered, leaving the teapot to its own devices as he headed for his office where he'd left his cell phone charging the night before. "Life was so much simpler when people simply couldn't contact you out of hours." Picking the electronic device up, however, he was surprised to see not Gibbs' name on the caller display, but Tony's. That rather argued against this being an out of hours call out - but the time of day made him wary all the same. Accepting the call, he said, "Anthony, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Considering I've been up since five, thanks to unexpected house guests, yeah," came the laconic answer. "Duck, you mind if I come over? Got something I think we need to talk about."

The tone was different to the normal DiNozzo sound. Less bluster and bravado, more world weariness. Ducky didn't like the implications. "What sort of thing?"

"Let's just say that friends of yours have been passing notes to friends of mine."

"Paris friends?"

"Uh-huh."

Ducky grimaced. "I see. Yes, you'd better come over, then."

"Hoped you'd say that."

There was a knock on the door.

"You were sitting in your car, outside," said Ducky dryly, moving from office to front door.

"Guilty as charged and not real remorseful about it, either."

Sure enough, as Ducky finally managed to persuade the recalcitrant deadlock to open, he found his long-time friend standing on the porch, shifting from foot to foot in a curious display of nervousness. "Anthony?"

With a sharp click, Tony closed his phone and mustered up a faint shadow of his normal smirk. "Hey, Duck."

"What's going on?"

"Trouble." The answer was succinct. "Can we-?" And Tony gestured inside the house.

"Of course. I was just making tea. Would you care for a cup?"

"No thanks, Ducky." Tony stepped through the door and closed it behind him. "We've got a problem."

"Since you're here and talking about Watchers, I rather assumed as much," Ducky retorted with some asperity as he led the way back to the kitchen. "What's happened?"

Tony ran his fingers through his hair in a very un-DiNozzoish gesture of agitation. "You didn't see the Johnson close out report, did you?"

"I can't say I did, no." Ducky poured water into his teapot. "What about it?"

"Johnson's Watcher heard something I said to Johnson, wrote it up and drew a conclusion from it. Which would be bad enough. She wasn't wholly right but close enough that the Watchers now at least suspect Anthony DiNozzo's a whole hell of a lot older than you suggested when you 'found' me in Baltimore."

Ducky nodded slowly. "But?" he prompted. "You always knew it was a possibility that someone would eventually work it out." He paused. "If I may, how close was Ms Edwards?"

A faint smile creased Tony's face. "Praetorian Guard."

Ducky chuckled at that. "Close, as you might say, but no cigar."

"Right." Tony sighed. "And you're right, I have known it was a possibility. The Watchers aren't as dumb as I sometimes wish they were."

"So where is the actual problem?"

"The problem is what's happened to that close out report."

Ducky poured out a cup of tea and added a dash of milk before gesturing towards the kitchen table. "Which is? And, for that matter, how is it you know about this?"

"Joe Dawson." Tony slumped down on a convenient seat. "Surprised he hasn't called you about this, actually." He sighed. "The Watchers have got another leak."

"Oh, my." Ducky sat down heavily. "That is most definitely a problem." He sipped his tea. "What sort of leak?"

"The sort of leak that leads to Immortals having their heads separated from their bodies by someone armed with a sharp pointy object."

Ducky rolled his eyes. "Mortal hunters or part of The Game?"

"Far as my sources tell me, it's neither. It's someone with a personal vendetta."

"Personal how?"

"The Diaspora."

Ducky winced. "I see."

For a long couple of moments, there was silence in the kitchen, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock.

"What are you going to do?" Ducky finally asked.

"I don't know." Tony leaned back in his seat. "Head mostly says get the hell out of Dodge."

"But you don't want to leave," Ducky judged.

"No I don't." He grimaced. "And there's one more thing."

"Which is?"

"Hamas are involved."

Ducky sucked in a breath. "That certainly puts an interesting wrinkle in matters."

At that moment, Tony's cell phone began to ring. Tony frowned at the device. "It's Gibbs," he said. Then answered the call, "Hey, boss? We got a case?"

Ducky couldn't hear what the retired Marine's response was, but from the way the tension in Tony's expression increased, he could make a reasonable guess.

"Boss, you- Yeah, Ziva's already been by and told me."

That, Ducky mused, explained how Tony was aware of the Hamas angle.

"Yes, Boss." Tony grimaced. "I'll be there in ten."

Ducky lifted an eyebrow as Tony once more closed his phone. "Should I ask?"

"Since there's a credible threat to me, Vance has ordered me into protective custody." Tony's grimace told Ducky everything he needed to know about Tony's opinion of that order. "Gibbs doesn't disagree."

"Well of course not," said Ducky. "They wouldn't be doing their jobs if they didn't take this step."

"I know. Doesn't mean I like it." He ran another hand through his hair. "Duck, I gotta go before Gibbs sends out a search party."

Ducky nodded. "I will get in touch with Paris and see what more I can find out." He hesitated. "Do you have your sword?"

"It's still in my apartment." Tony shrugged. "Can't carry it into the Navy Yard or else I'm gonna have Vance asking me questions I don't wanna answer."

"You still might," Ducky pointed out.

Tony inclined his head. "Those are gonna be easier to answer than explaining why I just happen to be carrying a hand-and-a-half bastard sword in my trunk."

"An excellent point."

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face and stood up. "Lemme know what you find out, Duck."

"As long as you do likewise," Ducky answered."And Tony?"

The unaccustomed use of the shortened name made the Immortal pause his departure.

"Do take care."

Ducky watched as Tony closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, it was almost like looking at a different man. The masks that had been shed for this conversation were all back in place. Gone were the signs of a man far older than should have been possible, leaving behind the sophomoric shell that was Anthony DiNozzo, federal agent and some-time playboy. It was a shift that Ducky had seen numerous times since their first meeting in Baltimore, but familiarity didn't make the change any less startling or unsettling.

"Always do, Ducky."

And with that, the Immortal headed out of the kitchen. A moment later and Ducky heard his front door open and close. A moment beyond that and he heard the V8 engine of his friend's Mustang roar into life and pull away. Once the last notes of the car had diminished to nothing, he picked up his cellphone and scanned through the contacts until he came to the listing for the International Assets Corporation. He hesitated for a moment, then scanned a little further until he reached the number for Le Blues Bar. No point in going to the bureaucrats when he could go to the source direct.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	4. Three

Christmas, computer gremlins and a minor plot crisis have all contrived to make this part heavily overdue, which I can only grovel over. Good news: Christmas is over, the gremlins have been fixed and the plot crisis has resolved in a way I was not expecting and I should be able to update on a much more regular basis from here on in. Thanks again for all the reviews, the favouritings and the alerts; thanks also for your patience. I hope this is worth the wait!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The NCIS characters and setting belong to Bellisario et al; the Highlander characters and concept belong to DPP et al. No harm intended, no money made.

Timing: Set sometime after Agent Afloat and before Cloak in season six.

Warnings: Contains history, Latin and religion.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice and thanks to K for the help with Latin.

This story is the inevitable (!) result of giving a Classicist a throw away line like "Not Long Islanders, Romans". This story is also something of an anniversary piece. I started on this site on the 29th November 2000 as a Highlander writer and here I am, ten years later, coming back to my first fandom while playing in my newest... This is a crossover story, but don't worry if you're not familiar with Highlander; the blanks will get filled in as we go. Any Latin translations will come at the end of each part - though I will try to keep that to a minimum!

A Kind of Magic

Three

Ziva stalked into the Israeli Embassy ready to do battle with anyone and everyone standing between her and the truth. Perhaps Bashan sensed that, or perhaps he recalled the last time she'd been there. Either way, to judge by the ease of her passage through, he had all but rolled out the red carpet for her and was waiting, in his office.

"Ziva," he greeted. "It is-"

"Time for you to give me the truth," Ziva cut in, of no mind to deal with pleasantries. "I wish to know why I am only now being brought into the loop on this."

Bashan's shoulders slumped. "You had better sit down."

"Why?" Ziva repeated, folding her arms across her chest and making no move towards sitting down. "Am I not liaison with NCIS? Do they not deserve all the warning they can have when one of their own may be targeted?"

"It is not that simple, Ziva. Your father-"

"What does he have to do with this?"

Bashan gave her an old fashioned sort of look. "He wished for us to be more certain of what we knew. He did not wish for NCIS to be forced into chasing shadows and ghosts."

Unfortunately that was a perfectly proper response. Much as Ziva wanted to argue with it, she couldn't. "Then perhaps now would be a good time for a full briefing?"

Bashan waved his hand towards the unoccupied chair in front of his desk. "If you will take a seat, Officer David, I am at liberty to do just that."

Grudgingly, Ziva sat.

* * *

"Agent DiNozzo." Vance's voice was just this side of terse as Tony slid into the director's office. "About time you got here."

Gibbs was amused to see Tony reflexively glanced at his watch, though he had to know that he'd made it to the Navy Yard well within the ten minutes he'd mentioned. "Got here as soon as I could."

"Considering you live in Silver Springs, I'd say you got here sooner," said Gibbs dryly.

Tony shrugged. "It's early and a Sunday and I may have been channelling Ziva."

Gibbs knew his Senior Agent was lying. On another day, he knew he'd push for the proper explanation, but not today. Today, there were other, more important, things to worry about.

Vance simply gestured to the conference table. "Have a seat."

Tony sat. "So what's this all about?"

"Tell me," said Vance, "when was the last time you spoke with your father?"

* * *

"His father?" Ziva echoed. "His father is a reclusive business man in New York. They do not get on. To the best of my knowledge, Special Agent DiNozzo has not spoken to him in the entire time I have been working with NCIS and, by all accounts, not before that, either."

"Well this particular cell of Hamas must believe otherwise," said Bashan with a shrug. "From the communiques we have been able to decode, it seems that they are planning an action against Roman International and, specifically, their CEO, Anthony DiNozzo Senior."

Ziva shook her head. "That makes no sense."

"But it does. Anthony DiNozzo Senior is a very wealthy man," Bashan replied. "And one who has a surprising set of morals, given his entirely sketchy background."

"What do you mean?"

* * *

"Italian immigrant, came here as a teenager just after the war," said Vance. "No records of him found anywhere in Italy. Almost like he didn't exist until he stepped off the boat in New York."

"So, no real difference between him and hundreds of other refugees," Tony retorted.

Vance held his hands up in a vaguely defensive gesture. "All I'm saying is that's how some of the Mafia families got their toe-holds into the city, which is why it's so surprising that there's never been any sign of that kind of trouble with your father's company. He runs a very tight, slick organisation."

"I'll be sure and pass that on to him, Director."

Inwardly, Gibbs winced at that tone. It was a sure sign that his senior agent was hanging onto his temper by the barest of margins. The last time he'd heard the younger man sound that tightly controlled it had been in the disastrous aftermath of the Frog debacle. Gibbs could only hope that Vance make the same mistake that Jenny had made that day.

"I thought you didn't speak."

"We don't."

"Maybe it's time to fix that."

* * *

Bashan spread photos out on his desk. Ziva studied them and was unsurprised to see that they displayed Tony going about his daily routine. Photos of him at the grocery store, at crime scenes, heading for the gym, out with friends, out with the team.

"More Mossad surveillance?" she jibbed.

"Sadly for your Agent DiNozzo, no," said Bashan. "We caught the courier who was smuggling these images into Gaza yesterday morning. From them it is clear that Hamas have eyes here in Washington, focussing in on how he occupies his time and where and," Bashan peered over his glasses in pointed fashion, "with whom."

"He is my team mate and my partner," said Ziva coldly. "Even Mossad permits a certain level of social contact between such. It promotes...teamwork."

"Yes, yes." Bashan waved her comments off. "But under these circumstances, it presents a great risk to you."

* * *

"On the basis of these photos," Vance concluded, "I've got no choice but to put you into protective custody."

"So I get to spend the next I-don't-know-how-long sat on my ass, doing nothing, in a safe house somewhere while everyone else runs around like their hair's on fire?" Tony shook his head. "Not happening."

"Consider it a direct order," Vance retorted.

"It's a waste of manpower," said Tony.

Privately, Gibbs agreed, although he knew well why Vance was proposing it. He also knew he had to step in now, before Tony did something his career might regret. "DiNozzo," he growled, forcing Tony's mouth closed with a mutinous snap.

"You have something to say, Agent Gibbs?" Vance bit out.

"DiNozzo's right," said Gibbs with a shrug. "Sticking him in a safe house would be a waste of manpower. Make far more sense for him to stay on base here. Just as safe."

"And you can put him to work," Vance judged, though his expression suggested he'd just bitten into a particularly sour lemon.

"His family. Figure he'd want to get the people behind this." Even as he spoke, though, Gibbs was aware that Tony's expression also suggested he was less than thrilled by this alternative plan. Was it simply the restrictions that would be involved or was there something else going on? He would have to make enquiries, just as soon as they were out from under Vance's nose.

A muscle in Vance's jaw twitched, presumably as he considered Gibbs' alternative plan. Then he nodded, once. "All right. Better call your team in. Week's starting early."

* * *

The conversation with Joe Dawson had been both illuminating and frustrating in equal measure, Ducky decided as he slowly climbed the stairs up to Tony's apartment. On the one hand, it told him that the Watchers' research department had uncovered a pattern of disappearances involving Immortals with ties of one sort or another to the Roman Empire - a worrying development, to be sure. On the other hand, the research department had yet to find trace of the person, or people, behind it. Each time, the Immortal concerned had been abducted by a group of presumed mortals. Each time, the Immortal's beheaded body subsequently turned up, usually as an unidentified corpse in a city morgue somewhere. Each time, the Watchers in the field had been unable to follow, leaving no witnesses.

The pattern did, at least, explain why Hamas had taken a sudden interest in Tony. But it got Ducky no nearer to knowing who was ultimately behind it and where they might be hiding so, as information went, it was well nigh useless.

_"We're still researching,"_ Joe had said. _"If we can get a name, you'll be the first person I call. But I gotta tell you, whoever it is has hid their tracks pretty damn well."_

That suggested to Ducky (and he was sure the thoughts had occurred to Joe, too) that either the person behind it was an unidentified Immortal or they were being aided and abetted by their Watcher. Neither was an attractive prospect.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Ducky shelved his ruminations and turned his attention back to his present situation. Using a key that had been given to him "in case of emergencies", he quietly let himself into Tony's apartment. Over his shoulder he carried his golf bag and, to any casual onlookers, he supposed he looked like any other early Sunday morning golfer - though the great game as the last thing on his mind, just at present.

While Tony hadn't asked him to, Ducky had decided that making sure the Immortal would have access to his sword, even while under protective custody, would be a good idea. The trick would be smuggling that item into the Navy Yard. Not exactly an easy task, but not an impossible one - especially not for someone who was, as Ducky knew well, regarded as something of an eccentric. All he would need to do was slide the sword into the golf bag and let it nestle between the five iron and the sand wedge. The Marines on the gate would give him an eye-roll and the bag a cursory inspection and that would be that: fait acomplit.

Tony would, undoubtedly, be both amused and horrified by the security breach.

As he stepped into Tony's living room, however, Ducky discovered that there were still plenty of ways for this otherwise perfect plan to go wrong. Behind him he heard the unmistakable sound of someone cocking a gun.

"Hands where I can see them."

Even as he slowly raised his hands, Ducky catalogued what he now knew of his captor. Female; young-sounding; accent - American, mostly. There was something else in her voice that made Ducky frown. Overlays and undertones of other accents that suggested the speaker had moved around a lot in their formative years - or, he thought with a wry smile, had simply lived long enough to have needed new language skills from time to time.

"Turn around."

Ducky did so slowly and was grateful that he'd already realised his captor could well be an Immortal because otherwise he was certain that the sight of Amanda Darieux training a gun rather unerringly at his chest might have been alarming.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"My name is Dr Donald Mallard," Ducky answered. "I work with Anthony."

The gun didn't waver. "And he gave you a key?" Amanda looked sceptical.

"Strictly for emergencies, yes."

"So why are you here?"

"It's an emergency," said Ducky dryly. "Since I'm assuming you're the person Joe Dawson sent his message with, I'm sure you already know that."

Amanda blinked. Then lowered the gun. "Oh. You, uh, know about that."

Judging he was safe to lower his hands, Ducky gratefully set the golf bag down. "Over the years I've known him, Anthony's found it...useful to have an ally who knows his secret."

"You're his Watcher."

"In a manner of speaking." Ducky exhibited both wrists, displaying the lack of tattoo. "I was never fully initiated but Paris considered it expedient for me to take on the role, given Anthony's current occupation - and mine."

"And just how did you talk him into it? He's been paranoid about his privacy ever since I've known him."

"As I said: expediency. Far easier to stay off Paris' radar, tagged as a young Immortal and with a Watcher he knows and, I dare say, largely trusts, than to run the risk of being known as a legend."

"True." Amanda conceded the point. "He's always been sneaky that way." She frowned. "You know? He told you?"

Ducky chuckled. "More accurately, I guessed and he opted to confirm, rather than deny."

That earned a raise of one shapely eyebrow. "I'm impressed. And that explains a few things." Ducky waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. Instead she made the gun safe again and asked, "So why are you here?"

"Immortal troubles usually require Immortal solutions." Ducky gestured to the entertainment centre in the corner of the living room. "And while no one will be taking heads on the Navy Yard, the odds of Anthony requiring to defend himself are, I would suggest, high."

"What?"

Ducky bent and slid open the concealed drawer in the top of the unit. "This, my dear," he said, pulling out the sword. Turning around, he realised Amanda was now regarding him with a horror she wasn't even attempting to conceal. "As I said: no one will be beheaded on the Navy Yard. He's quite safe."

"When did he stop carrying it?"

Ducky slid the weapon into his golf bag. "You would have to ask him that."

"He's officially lost it."

"My dear, he can hardly carry a sword into a place like the Navy Yard. Besides," Ducky added, "it isn't as if he is completely unarmed. He's really quite a good shot, you know."

A brief smile flickered across Amanda's face. "I know."

"So, nothing to worry about, just at present." Ducky shouldered the golf bag again. "Now, I'm certain Anthony won't be back today and almost as certain that sooner or later, his boss - and mine - will be paying this apartment a visit."

Amanda nodded. "I was getting ready to leave when you arrived. You, uh, you won't tell him I, y'know..." She trailed off and gestured in a vaguely sheepish manner with the gun.

Ducky chuckled. "Shouldn't dream of it, my dear."

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

Glossary:

No Latin, this time, but a quick primer for the Highlander universe. For those who're unfamiliar with the universe - or just rusty - I've written up some brief notes which I WAS going to paste in at this point...until I realised they were the same length as the chapter! So for more information, try here (spaces will need removing): http : / / athersgeo . livejournal . com / 289827 . html (or there's a fully formed link in my profile on this site.)


	5. Four

Uh, so. Yeah. Long time, no post. I have been extremely busy and this chapter has been excruciating to write. I grovel now. Thank you for your patience.

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The NCIS characters and setting belong to Bellisario et al; the Highlander characters and concept belong to DPP et al. No harm intended, no money made.

Timing: Set sometime after Agent Afloat and before Cloak in season six.

Warnings: Contains history, Latin and religion.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice and thanks to K for the help with Latin.

This story is the inevitable (!) result of giving a Classicist a throw away line like "Not Long Islanders, Romans". This story is also something of an anniversary piece. I started on this site on the 29th November 2000 as a Highlander writer and here I am, ten years later, coming back to my first fandom while playing in my newest... This is a crossover story, but don't worry if you're not familiar with Highlander; the blanks will get filled in as we go. Any Latin translations will come at the end of each part - though I will try to keep that to a minimum!

A Kind of Magic

Four

Tony leaned over the sink in the men's room and splashed cold water on his face. The Gods certainly loved a good joke, he found himself thinking - though if this was a joke, he sure as shit wasn't laughing. How in the hell was it he found himself in this position? It was tempting to blame it on Amanda. She did, after all, have a reputation for throwing things into chaos just by walking into a room. But no. No, this current mess wasn't actually her fault. It was his own. He was the one who'd decided to get cute in setting up this present identity. He could almost hear Methos' ringing 'I told you so'. Stupid.

He splashed more cold water on his face.

Beating himself up wasn't going to help. It was time to face the problems rationally and try to come up with a solution before Gibbs - or, worse, Ziva - came looking for him.

All right. Problem the first: he'd been implicitly ordered to contact his 'father', Anthony DiNozzo Senior, the CEO of Roman International - a man who hadn't existed in any real sense for approaching twenty-five years. Solution one: stall. He'd long established that he and his 'father' had a rocky relationship, so it would surprise no-one if his calls went unreturned. The drawback was that it wouldn't take long until Gibbs decided to intervene.

Solution two: he could call Annie Philips, Roman International's current managing director. She knew the truth about him - some of it, at least - and was the one chiefly responsible for making sure that, for all his reclusiveness, Anthony DiNozzo Senior was still actively involved in the company he'd founded. She would be able to further any stalling and Tony knew she'd be happy to play along. But, if Hamas really was out to get him, he didn't want Annie involved in that any more than she already was.

Solution three: find some way to fake a conversation with Senior. There'd been any number of cases where they'd had faked calls, using computers and voice synthesisers. The problem with that was Tony wasn't sure his technical skills were up to producing something of that magnitude.

Solution four: explain the truth to the team. Not his preferred option by any stretch, but he had to list it as a solution all the same.

Okay; there were things he could work with there. Next problem: Hamas wanted to use him to make a point to the Roman International board and, as a result, he was going to be confined to the Navy Yard until that was resolved. Solution: find the Hamas operatives and take them out as quickly as possible. Put that way, it sounded simple. Tony knew it would be anything but. On the other hand, though, that was what Team Gibbs did best. And Mossad were bound to have at least a little more intel than Vance had passed on in an admittedly short briefing.

That left problem three: someone, probably armed with a sharp pointy object, was after him and all he knew was...what? Tony shook his head. The assumption was it related to his days in Rome - that was the pattern that the Watchers had noticed; but did he believe it? And if he did, just what did it mean? Was it, as he'd assumed on the basis of the source of the hacking, related to Iudea? And did it - as his gut was strongly suggesting - relate to the Hamas threat against Roman International? He shook his head again. The solution to this one lay, pretty firmly, at Ducky's feet. Without more information there was no way for him to formulate any kind of plan.

Maybe that was where to start. "Wonder if Ducky's in yet."

* * *

Ducky flipped the lights on in autopsy and set his golf bag down beside his desk. While he'd been on his way to the Navy Yard, he'd had a call from Gibbs, summoning him to work. The retired Marine had been brief - as was his wont - but Ducky hadn't needed many details to realise this summons related to Tony's situation. That was a sure sign that it was even worse than Tony had been suspecting - a thought that filled Ducky with no small measure of concern and which suggested that sooner, rather than later, the ancient Immortal would be gracing Autopsy seeking more information.

Ducky just wished he had more information to give.

Pulling Tony's sword from the depths of the golf bag, he hastily opened the nearest of the cooler drawers and tucked it into the narrow cavity beneath the slide. He would have to mark that drawer as "out of order" and do a spot of minor vandalism to add verisimilitude, but now that the sword was safely concealed, the rest could wait until he'd made a cup of tea.

He had just switched the kettle on, however, when he heard the doors of autopsy slide open.

Turning, he was slightly startled to see Gibbs walking in. "Jethro," he greeted.

"Duck, has Tony ever said anything to you about his father?" As usual, Gibbs zeroed in on the point of his visit at the expense of any pleasantries.

"His father?" Ducky echoed, internally wincing. "I can't say he has, no. Why?"

"Trying to make sense of what's going on."

"Perhaps," said Ducky as the kettle boiled, "it might help if you told me what was going on."

* * *

"Tony's in trouble. Must be a day of the week ending in y."

Ziva looked up from the photos she was reviewing as McGee entered the bullpen. "This is no joke, McGee."

McGee looked fractionally sheepish as he slid behind his desk. "I know but, you have to admit, this does happen to Tony a lot."

Ziva looked back at the photos. There was no point in disagreeing with McGee about that.

"So where do you want me to start?" McGee asked. "And where is Tony? I was sorta expecting to find Gibbs had him chained to the desk or something."

"Even prisoners get head calls," Ziva replied. "As for where to start, there is surveillance tape waiting to be analysed. We know that Hamas have been watching Tony; perhaps the watchers themselves have been watched."

McGee nodded and for a few moments there was silence in the bullpen. Ziva studied the photographs and made notes of where the photographs had been taken. It would, of course, have been far easier for Tony to be doing this but he was still away from the bullpen, presumably still trying to wrap his head around the size and scope of this plot. She shook her head. As much as she could sympathise with him, if it were her, she would want to be doing everything she could to try and resolve this rather than sticking her head in the sand. Then again, Tony lacked her training, so perhaps he did need this time to allow himself to come to terms with what had happened - in which case, it would be up to her and McGee to pick up the investigative slack until he was ready.

Distantly, she heard the sound of the elevator heralding a new arrival, but it wasn't until she heard an exclaimed, "_Binty_!" that she looked up and realised that the new arrival had come to a halt directly in front of her desk and was now smiling down on her like the benevolent giant she knew him to be. "Michael Bashan did not tell me it was you I was to deliver these to."

Ziva stared at him for a moment, stunned. "Simon, what are you doing here?" she finally managed.

"Courier duty," he answered, holding out a folder. "More information for you."

Ziva accepted it and flicked it open. Yet more photographs. That at least allowed her something else to focus on, rather than the surprise that was still threatening to rob her of her speech. "They have been thorough, yes?"

"It seems they are particularly desperate to make this point."

McGee cleared his throat and Ziva realised there were some introductions in order. "Special Agent McGee, this is Officer Simon Ben-Artzi of Mossad."

Ben-Artzi offered McGee a smile and a nod. "A pleasure to meet you." He turned back to Ziva. "How long have you been here in Washington?"

"This is my fourth year in this post," Ziva answered. "Although I was at home this summer. You were-?"

"Elsewhere," Ben-Artzi replied with an apologetic shrug. "Your father keeps me busy. Since we are both in Washington, perhaps I might buy you dinner one evening? Allow us an opportunity to catch up with one another's news."

Ziva smiled, shock finally beginning to fade. "I would like that, very much - though it will not be until this cell has been brought down."

"Of course." He nodded. "I will be at the embassy until Friday."

"I will call," Ziva promised.

Ben-Artzi nodded again and departed with a smile and a jaunty wave. Ziva watched him leave, wishing - not for the first time - that her father kept her a little more in touch with what was going on.

"So..." McGee began. "Binty?"

And now the nickname drew a blush to her cheeks and she was grateful that Tony was still not present in the bullpen. "It is an old Israeli nickname," she answered. "And I will kill you with a paper fastener if I ever hear it so much as breathed in Tony's presence." McGee mimed zipping his lips shut. "Good."

"So who is he?" McGee asked.

"He is an old friend," Ziva answered in a tone that would, she knew, persuade McGee to drop the questions. She had always been scornful of those who used the phrase 'it's complicated', but it was the only phrase that truly covered her relationship with Ben-Artzi. The last thing she wanted to risk was a DiNozzo-style interrogation on the subject and if there was a topic that was likely to conjure Tony's return to the bullpen, this would be it.

All McGee said in response was a knowing, "Oh - I see," and then he wisely got back to work on the surveillance footage.

Ziva sighed and turned her attention back to the photographs. It was going to be a very long case.

* * *

Abby bounced around her lab starting up her various machines. While the situation was one that came under the general category heading of 'not good' she reasoned that this was a fairly mild case of 'not good' - in that they could do something about it before people got hurt, rather than after. On the other hand, this was Tony they were talking about. Even with this kind of warning there were no guarantees-

"Positive thoughts, Abby; positive thoughts," she muttered, forcibly dragging her mind from that path of thought. "this will be fine and nobody will get hurt. Except for the bad guys - because they started it and will probably deserve it and when Gibbs catches up to them they'll wish they had never even so much as thought about Anthony DiNozzo much less tried to kidnap him and use him against his own father and-"

"Take a breath, Abs," said a voice from the doorway.

Spinning on a dime, Abby stared at the interloper for a few seconds, then hurled herself at him with a whoop of, "Tony! Are you okay?"

From the sheer fact that they didn't, in fact, end up on the lab floor in a tangled heap of Tony and Abby (would that be a tabby heap? Something to consider later), Abby guessed Tony had more or less been expecting the hug. From the way his arms wrapped themselves around her, he might even have been looking for it.

"M'okay, Abs," he murmured, somewhere in the general region of her ear.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." He gently set her back on her feet. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Abby's hands went to her hips and she gave him her number two best glare - because he was under a lot of stress, so he probably didn't deserve anything harsher for such a stupid question. "Because those whackjobs have put a hit out on you and if you think that I can just sit at home - with the nuns, who would totally be at church right now, so I guess that's where I'd be - while my best friend is in this kind of trouble and when I could do something about it-"

"Abby!"

She stopped short.

"Thank you."

She smiled. "You're welcome. Now you'd better leave me to my work - a magician never reveals her secrets and McGee has sent me the worst piece of security camera footage so..." She trailed off in a meaningful fashion.

Tony took his cue and turned to leave. He paused in the doorway, though, and added, " CafPow on your desk." Then he was gone.

Abby smirked and shook her head. He was getting more and more like Gibbs every day. "Right, men," she began, turning to the room at large, "we have work to do."

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

Glossary:

No Latin, this time, but some Hebrew or, more accurately, butchered Arabic (with very grateful thanks to the folks on Little Details!):

Binty - my daughter. Used by people of a military background as an informal mode of address to a much younger woman. (The example I was given was CO of a CO!)


End file.
